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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714791">As long as they believe it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searofyr/pseuds/Searofyr'>Searofyr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Isles and Empires [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Diary/Journal, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:47:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searofyr/pseuds/Searofyr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The journal of Evidio Tharn, Illusionist. Cyrodiil, Shivering Isles 3E-4E. </p><p>An unknown member of a well-known family, Evidio specialises in Illusion magic and lives a modest life. Unfortunately, Nirn is short of a saviour, and decisions have already been made. And so he finds himself in the role of the hero the Empire needs and at last under the mantle of a Daedric Prince. </p><p>Loosely follows the events of The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion including the Shivering Isles DLC.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil &amp; Martin Septim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Isles and Empires [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Imperial City Prison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I didn’t <em>really</em> set loose a frost atronach in the inn’s kitchen. I was trying to make a <em>point</em>. An illustration to the chef, of a <em>possibility</em> for food storage, and the approximate dimensions it would take, and what kind of behaviour to expect. Practical example, to consider whether it would be too frightful for guests, staff, the like.</p><p>As it turned out, it proved too frightful for the chef himself, who called the guards.</p><p>And then you land in the whole sorry legal machinery of Imperial City.</p><p>But if you ask me, it’s all political. It’s about my family name, nevermind that I’m from a branch that hasn’t been relevant since the Second Era, when Abnur and Diesala Tharn disappeared to Artaeum and ceased interfering with Tamrielic concerns. (They lived until sometime in our current era, sources are inconclusive, even our own family records, which is what happens when Artaeum gets involved.)</p><p>In any case, their descendants have been, for the most part, embracing mediocrity and had nothing to do with the assorted bits of chaos and upheaval connected to our name. And I’m a mage, yes, but to involve me with any wars or matters of Oblivion would be ludicrous; I specialise in Illusion above else! And a bit of Alteration and some other bits of pieces to pay for my living expenses, which is how the kitchen advisor contract even came to be.</p><p>And then this.</p><p><em>This</em>, to be exact, being the <em>Imperial City Prison</em>. By Shezarr, what is this nonsense? I hope someone gets me out of here soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Author’s note: Evidio was my original HoK, many years ago, and since I just re-installed the game on a new system, I decided I might as well write down his story now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On second thought…</p><p>They’re not going to get me out, are they?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It has been a while. I’ve stopped counting the days. It doesn’t do good things to my general condition.</p><p>It has been long enough that when the not-terribly-friendly Dark Elf in the cell across mine told me they would probably make an example of me, I could say with some confidence, “I already know that.”</p><p>He gave the smallest gesture to have me speak on.</p><p>There was nothing better to do, so I mentioned a bit about my family background and my magic and how I’d come here, and said, “either this is someone making an example of me, or it’s many, many people being very, very dense about magic. Which is also very much a possibility. But if that was an honest misunderstanding, I worry for the state of the Empire.”</p><p>The elf snorted and sat closer to the door to talk more efficiently. I suppose he figured he had nothing better to do either, and perhaps I was tolerable company under the circumstances.</p><p>I asked him how he had gotten here.</p><p>He introduced himself as Valen Dreth, and I think that is the last true thing he told me before he launched into tall tales of adventure and intrigue. If I believed him, I would surmise that I was dealing with Tamriel’s greatest hero and scoundrel at the same time. I didn’t mind at all. It passed the time.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cold and damp were getting to us both, and we didn’t talk much today. Probably to the relief of several fellow prisoners who tell us to shut up once in a while.</p><p>Into the silence, Valen said, “Won’t you show me that atronach? Let’s see how dense they really are.”</p><p>I looked around. No guards present. “Why not?” I gave out a courtesy warning to the other prisoners that what followed was just an illusion and placed a fake frost atronach in the corridor between us.</p><p>Valen looked him over, shrugged and leaned back against his cell wall. “Should you get out alive – which you won’t – you should make them look less realistic. You’re just asking for trouble.”</p><p>“Thanks,” I said.</p><p>He grumbled in acknowledgement.</p><p>“Should I put him away?”</p><p>“Leave him. He brightens the place. Maybe now I can read. The one book they leave us. Again.”</p><p>“<em>Mara’s forgiveness and Akatosh’s guidance</em>,” I muttered. “Wouldn’t mind if they guided us out of here.” And more quietly, “Not that they will.”</p><p>“Not your gods either, huh.”</p><p>I shook my head. “Shezarr it is.”</p><p>“The dead one?”</p><p>“Family tradition.”</p><p>“I can get that.” He coughed. “They say he’s a bit less dead these days anyway. For whatever that’s worth.”</p><p>I nodded. “That’s my hope. And Daedra for you?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“You get results, don’t you? That’s not the worst thing maybe.” I don’t know why I said that. Not to ingratiate myself to him. In that moment I meant it. Perhaps getting forgotten in a dark damp cell does that to you.</p><p>He nodded, just barely. “Could use some results right now though, not going to lie.”</p><p>We fell silent again.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“If you survive this,” he began today, “which you won’t. But if you do. What are you going to do?”</p><p>I thought about it for a moment, and then said, “I have no idea. I barely knew what I was doing with myself before. Now that’s all even more pointless. Though I’d choose it over this here, obviously.”</p><p>“If I get out, I’m going to get myself a girl, first thing. I need descendants. I have none. That’s not right.”</p><p>I had to laugh at that, but then I got serious again. His people are even more serious about their ancestors than my family is. “I hope you manage,” I said, and silently wished the blessings of Shezarr and Azura on him. Didn’t say it aloud; we don’t say that kind of thing aloud. This is still a prison.</p><p>He nodded. Maybe he got it. After a while, he gave me a shrewd look across the corridor. “Not for you, I reckon.”</p><p>“I’m afraid not,” I said. “And as it stands, it’s unlikely my family is going to insist. With how happy they are to forget about me and all. So I suppose I’m free. If it comes to that.”</p><p>“Strange definition of freedom.” He pointedly looked around the cell.</p><p>“Well, you know. You started with the unlikely outcomes.”</p><p>“That I did,” he said. “That I did.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>And then things changed.</p><p>They came into my cell, and by ‘they’ I mean the Emperor and his guards. Because my cell has a hidden way out.</p><p>The Emperor looked at me, his eyes boring into mine, and told me he had seen me in dreams, and my presence indicated the day of his death. (He would turn out to be right.)</p><p>The guards (“Blades”) didn’t trust me, but the Emperor did (finally somebody!) and decided I was to come along. There was a sort of crisis, and they were fleeing.</p><p>Somehow in the confusion and while fearing for my life, I said, “The Dunmer in the cell across from me. If you need another fighter. He’s very experienced.”</p><p>One of the guards snapped at me, “It’s enough that you’re here. We’re not freeing prisoners left and right. This cell was supposed to be empty.”</p><p>Again the Emperor showed more sense and/or mercy, asked me, “Is that your wish?”</p><p>“It is,” I said with some confusion.</p><p>“Free him,” he ordered, and they did.</p><p>Valen didn’t look as if he had expected this turn of events. Looked me over a few times. Nodded at me.</p><p>“Teach your descendants well,” I whispered. “But let’s get out of here alive first, both of us.”</p><p>“You got it.”</p><p>And so we snuck and fought our way out.</p><p>I will note here that neither of us was much use in the fighting in the end. As expected. I made a point not to notice too much.</p><p>The Blades did better, but as it is with the stars and prophecies, the Emperor still fell to an assassin’s blade.</p><p> </p><p>In his dying moments, he gave me an amulet to bring to a Blade-monk hybrid in a temple of Talos because he’s got a spare heir stashed away there.</p><p>I accepted the mission in a state of shock. I barely knew what was happening anymore by then.</p><p>The Blades wanted to send us off, but Valen and I insisted on official pardons so that we could actually do what we had to and live in Cyrodiil at all.</p><p>“Do it,” the Emperor commanded. “For the Empire. Don’t hinder this; it’s too important.”</p><p>So we got hastily and reluctantly but officially signed pardons.</p><p> </p><p>And then we stood outside. In need of a bath, and real clothing, and food, and new lives. It was morning, and the air was clear, the early sun burning after all that time in a dark prison.</p><p>With a scornful twitch around his lips, Valen said, “You’re going to be a hero of your Empire now? After all they did and all that idiocy?” His voice was gaining back its life already.</p><p>I refrained from asking him about any tips. He clearly wouldn’t have any. “Maybe,” I said, too tired even for quips, much less anything profound. But I did have a sensible thought in the middle of the fog in my mind: “If there are assassins around, I should learn to do more than summon illusions first.”</p><p>“Oh you should definitely do that. Not going to scare any of those with tricks. I’m going to disappear. Pardons can get lost conveniently. Can’t go back to Morrowind either… Maybe Skyrim.”</p><p>I sighed without wanting to. “That sounds really nice. Snow, none of this nonsense, a normal life…”</p><p>“Tempted?”</p><p>“Yes. But…” I looked around at the green shores and the bodies of water and the ruins and the spires of Imperial City. “My ancestors really cared about this place. I suppose I should do it a favour or two.”</p><p>“Always with the ancestors. I know. One day I’m going to be the ancestor bossing someone around, if just in their head.”</p><p>I laughed. “I wish you the best of luck with that.” I paused. Say something this time or no? Last opportunity. “Well, I’ll be visiting a priory soon, so let’s get priestly for a moment. Go with the blessing of Shezarr and Azura and whoever else matters.” Embarrassing to say, highly so, but I felt like it anyway. Was getting ready to defend it as a joke.</p><p>But he nodded, and inscrutable smile on his face. “Likewise. Don’t get yourself killed. It’s too late for that now.”</p><p>“Let’s both stay alive, yes.”</p><p>And with that uninformed pact in place, we went our separate ways.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Here and there</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The truth is, I have nowhere left to go to – no home, no family after this, nothing else to my name either – and nothing to live for. Nothing that particularly defines me. Nothing that I particularly want. I wanted my freedom, and I wanted to not die or be killed in prison. Good, that is achieved.</p><p>And now?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They say in extreme situations you’re supposed to realise what is truly important to you. Other than “survival”, that did not happen. Rather, I realised there is nothing that is truly important to me.</p><p>If I try really hard, looking back, perhaps my family, the distant ancestry, the name, nobody living right now that left me to rot in prison, probably glad to be rid of me and my branch.</p><p>My faith, perhaps. Vague as it may be.</p><p>Duty. Although that is merely a bandage over the void. Or a replacement. In the absence of anything real and innate, duty serves as a substitute, and sometimes you can fool people into thinking it is the innate and real thing for you.</p><p> </p><p>I have a mission, by an Emperor, who did after all spare me and free me and my cell block companion too, without having to. And I harbour no illusions about those so-called “Blades”: With me as an inconvenience in that cell, without the Emperor’s intercession, it would not have been unlikely to find a blade across my throat to avoid further trouble and witnesses.</p><p>So I’ll do him that favour.</p><p> </p><p>And so for now, let it be duty. I’m freshly out of prison, and I saw our Emperor die. I don’t need anything innate at this moment; I just need something. I have a pardon, and I can wave it and the concept of duty in people’s faces. As long as they believe it.</p><p> </p><p>Once I’ve learned to fight a bit. Where does one learn to fight in times of relative peace?</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Imperial City</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I didn’t know where else to go. Foolish as it is.</p><p>Out there, I spent a few nights in ruins and abandoned shacks, had to scare away some bandits with illusions of atronachs and skeletons, thought a lot, and eventually decided to just risk it. Here I am.</p><p>No one pays me any attention, which is good in this case.</p><p>And so I was wandering around the city, with no coin to my name, except the bit I got by selling some used things I picked up from out there. I do hope my ancestors don’t see me like this.</p><p> </p><p>And as I walked along eating my Alik’r meat bun that I’d bought with hard-won coin from a mace a bandit had dropped while running away from my skeleton illusion, I noticed what district I was standing in.</p><p>I looked up the walls in front of me.</p><p>The solution to all my most pressing problems.</p><p>Coin. Fighting instruction. And they <em>pay</em> you for the instruction. With the downside that the instruction is not very good and very hands-off, and if you don’t pick things up quickly enough, you die. But <em>they</em> pay <em>you</em> instead of you them.</p><p>I give myself time to think while I’m writing this and while I’m eating my second meat bun. (I’ve been constantly starving since the prison interlude.)</p><p>Should I?</p><p>It’s beyond stupid.</p><p>But should I?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Imperial City Arena</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I am now the “Tamriel Terror”.</p><p>They have a few stock stage names that they hand out whenever they’re available (i.e. whenever the previous holder is dead), and I got a pick. I liked this one. The gentleman took it as the best joke he’d heard in years, and it probably is.</p><p> </p><p>The training is indeed very lacking and very hands-off – in that it doesn’t exist. They did away with it since I last watched matches. One is supposed to learn on the job.</p><p> </p><p>The barracks do have a bath room, and you get some very basic armour that you have to wear, which is convenient if you have none of your own (I don’t), and I do appreciate that a lot after that last adventure. It’s amazing how much a bath and a change of clothes makes you feel human again, even if you’re about to go into almost certain death. But what do I have to lose?</p><p>Well, my life, and Cyrodiil has an heir to the throne to lose. (People in the city are already talking about the murder, though so far things are quiet.) But what else am I supposed to do? This is something. Beggars can’t be choosers, and I am effectively a beggar now. Because I will <em>not</em> be going home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marcus, one of the more seasoned fighters down in the basement, named the “Holy Slasher”, took a look at me and said, “You’re going to die.”</p><p>I said, “People keep telling me that.”</p><p>He said, “Well maybe you ought to listen then. What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I’m not dead yet,” I said.</p><p>He snorted and handed me his flask. “You’ll need this more than I will. Drink up. Won’t hurt as much that way. Was nice meeting you.”</p><p>I drank up. Sharp brandy that made me fuzzy in the head, but perhaps that’s not so bad.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I understand this area is neither a basement nor is it barracks, it is “the Bloodworks”. Tell you what. If I survive a match or two, and if the “Tamriel Terror” becomes a real name (as much as something like this can be) and not a mere joke (although I also chose it for humorous purposes), I’ll also use your language.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They made it a group brawl. I cast a frenzy spell on the others and stayed out of their way. For the last one standing, a bit of lightning was enough.</p><p>And it seems the public wants to see me again. Regardless? Or because of the show?</p><p> </p><p>I like the arena garment, good quality for the underpaid ‘pit dogs’ that we are. The spikes here and there are a bit silly, but why not? I can live with the aesthetic.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Orcs really don’t like my fake frost atronachs. Redguards get more upset at fake skeletons. That doesn’t yet kill them, but it helps me until I can figure out how to hold a sword right and how to strike.</p><p>I’m not bothering with shields; I’ll never learn in time, and they’re heavy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marcus is teaching me a few things and providing battle anecdotes. Those teach me more things. Things about how arena fighters think, and most importantly, what they fear.</p><p> </p><p>Owyn, the Blademaster, is starting to be encouraging. He’s also starting to display a hint of being proud I’m on his team.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I made one twin sister kill another today. The usual way; frenzy spell. Finished off the other.</p><p>I’ll admit to a certain sombre mood.</p><p>Why do people enter this kind of thing with their twin sister anyway?</p><p> </p><p>But would you know, after washing off the blood and the day, and after a hearty meal outside and more of that brandy back down in the Bloodworks, I feel better already. Except for knowing what I’ve done. But you don’t advance without doing things that you then know you’ve done. Simple really.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If this was not a spectator sport, I would wonder why the management still gives me groups to fight. Everyone knows by now how it ends.</p><p>But of course, it is a spectator sport. And it appears as if me fighting groups is a popular genre of entertainment for afternoons out.</p><p>Of course. I’ll oblige. It’s better than having to display fighting skill.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the other hand, everything gets old at some point, and before they realise it gets old, it’s best to get in ahead of them, right?</p><p>I’m expanding on my illusions between different frightful Daedra and my newest trick: Fake quicksand. That one takes a few complex illusion spells because you have to attack more senses, but it’s very effective.</p><p>I’m also learning some more actual destruction and getting started on actual summoning. I want even those who get to know me not to know which summoned creature is real and which isn’t, until it’s too late that is.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today, on the way to the market district, a spectator approached me. A handsome middle-aged woman, conservatively dressed, I’d go as far as to say old-fashioned. Strong features, sharp eyes. She gave me a bracelet with a strange energy that she said would help me with some of my charms. “I know you’ve got to wear the garment,” she said, “but they don’t forbid jewellery, do they? In any case, it’ll help you outside of the arena, too, so keep it. And it doesn’t technically count as a Daedric artefact; it’s just been cobbled together recently. Where and by whom, doesn’t matter.”</p><p>I eyed it and her with some scepticism.</p><p>She introduced herself as Melima Aemilia. “Born as that anyway; my married name can wait for another time. Would give away too much. Anyway, keep it and don’t worry about it. My husband and I simply want to help you. Good performance you’re doing there. Love the illusion thing.”</p><p>“Ah… Thanks?”</p><p>“Wary, aren’t you? Good to be so. But don’t worry, we’ve got our own motives, and they won’t get in your way. A lot of people want to see you succeed. It’ll help all of us. Don’t ask me how. Just make sure you do.”</p><p>I could guess that she isn’t accustomed to giving reassuring smiles; it came out crooked. But I had to smile back anyway.</p><p>“Thank you,” I said, strangely calmed down. I don’t know how.</p><p>“You’re very welcome. I’d better not give you too much, or it’ll start counting, and that’d be more confusion than we need. But I’ll give you a hint. The ‘Lonely Huntsman’ is a tavern with decent food, and my weapons enthusiast circle meets there once a month. If you need anything, and you come with my recommendation, they might help you. Make sure you look a bit conservative. It’s that kind of place. And for once, your name won’t hurt.”</p><p>And then we parted. She said we might meet again “if everything goes well”. I have no idea what to make of this. But I did decide that rules be damned, and put on the bracelet. Strong and sturdy Imperial design, an old-fashioned red diamond inlay.</p><p>I don’t know what I just quasi-agreed to align myself with, nor why I did so, but for now I’ll just decide any help is good.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You can find Melima's story from the Second Era at "Consequences of a Nightcap", here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353536/chapters/66837079</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I put the bracelet to the test and tried something I didn’t manage before:</p><p>Two Nords. I made each of them think the other one was a Draugr. First they were afraid, then they killed each other. I didn’t have to lift a finger.</p><p>Not bad.</p><p>Now to practice until I can do it without the bracelet.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, I’m starting to be confident that I can go deliver that amulet soon. But I’m not quite ready to leave here. This isn’t so bad, and I’m still learning. Just a bit longer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I defeated a former Blades member. This should put me about on par with those assassins we met.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>A <em>former</em> Blades member. Who couldn’t stay in active duty for whatever reason and ended up here of all places.</p><p>And of course I fight dirty. But so do assassins.</p><p>So in truth, what I need is to be able to defeat someone who can defeat a Blades member.</p><p>Just a bit more. A bit better.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know how long it’s been. I stopped counting the days. The arena is its own world, and I’m caught up in it. A good feeling. I haven’t even read the Black Horse Courier in weeks.</p><p>Eventually. Eventually I’ll do what I have to. But not yet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well, it seems I’m out of excuses now. I’m Grand Champion of the arena.</p><p>While this is not quite what I set out to do when I started… It’s an accomplishment.</p><p> </p><p>With new resolve, I set out to… Cheydinhal. Just briefly. Just to not be running away anymore.</p><p>Horecia still does that bright green alchemical hair dye. For a while, why not?</p><p>The city is unchanged. Well, why wouldn’t it be?</p><p>I went out to the countryside, walked past my family’s home a few times, indecisive.</p><p>Eventually, they called me in. They didn’t quite look at me. But they’d heard of the arena accomplishments. While unconventional (which is Nibenese noble speech for “inappropriate, and what were you thinking?”), it is also a sign that I’ve fallen on my feet (after the prison incident, which will never be forgotten), and they are glad of it, after all, ambition and accomplishment in any area is a virtue in our family, and…</p><p>I about had enough. So did they.</p><p>Clearly they knew. Clearly they didn’t do anything.</p><p> </p><p>Then mother commented on me having obviously worked on my magic, which she commends, and father handed me some gold and some spell books.</p><p>They’re buying me out and want me to disappear. But in a civilised and polite way. We are still a family after all, and we are still house Tharn. We can do this the aristocratic way.</p><p>I took it anyway.</p><p> </p><p>I returned to Imperial City to buy a new wardrobe and some necessities, and rented a room in the ‘Lonely Huntsman’ after Melima’s gracious recommendation. They gave me a special price, and now I have somewhere to return to and to store my things. I’m not homeless anymore. That is something.</p><p>Now I will sleep and eat and drink for a few days, and read either something interesting or something lurid and trashy, until I feel recovered enough. Then I will set out to deliver a piece of jewellery to a warrior monk.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chorrol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I arrived at the Weynon Priory by Chorrol and met the warrior monk Jauffre, who is a bit more than that. Grandmaster of the Blades, in fact. I took the opportunity to pry about the group and learned a few things, though I suspect a carefully curated few things. Jauffre did mention the all-encompassing secrecy. Meanwhile, Talos is their patron. Not the most secretive type, is he? That paradox made them appear a slight bit more likeable to me at that moment.</p><p>That, and the peaceful location after the blood and dirt and noise of the arena. The seeming lack of vanity after visiting my parents.</p><p>Of course, I suspect the peaceful location and lack of vanity to also be carefully curated.</p><p> </p><p>On the probably more important matters than my personal impressions: I handed over the Amulet of Kings and got a lesson on its meaning. I didn’t mention my name; otherwise, perhaps Jauffre would not have assumed I lacked this kind of knowledge.</p><p>I also got a lesson on the involvement of Mehrunes Dagon in the current situation as well as the past situation involving Jagar Tharn.</p><p>So there we were, feeding each other carefully curated omissions garnished with banal information.</p><p> </p><p>At last, we got to the meat of the story. The Emperor’s son.</p><p>Illegitimate, of course, a priest of Akatosh.</p><p>“Why not Talos?” I asked. “Too visible?”</p><p>“We avoided the association, yes,” Jauffre said. “And he wasn’t informed of his lineage.”</p><p> </p><p>And now I’m supposed to go down to his cathedral in Kvatch to fetch him.</p><p>It’s not as if I had much to do at this point in my life. But Kvatch is far away, and I’m not exactly familiar with agent’s work. I carefully suggested maybe someone from their order might be more suitable. But no, it had to be me. No one knows me, but I already know a lot, and now I’m involved. I didn’t point out any more flaws in that reasoning because, to be honest, I’ve been looking for a new task. Perhaps even something with meaning, dare I say importance. I haven’t had much of that in my life.</p><p>So for whatever reason I get to go south to Kvatch and inform a priest that he is to be Emperor now.</p><p>At last, Jauffre asked for my name more pointedly than at the beginning, when he merely wanted to hear about the Emperor’s assassination and give out his mission.</p><p>So I told him.</p><p>He winced.</p><p>I waited to see if he would ask any more detailed questions about my family branch and lineage, to gauge the extent of the disaster.</p><p>To his credit, he didn’t. He said that his Emperor had seen me in his visions and had trusted me, and so he would have to do the same.</p><p>And so we parted on seemingly amicable terms. But I’m sure he began digging into my family history as soon as I was out the door.</p><p> </p><p>I’m not in Kvatch now. I’m in Chorrol proper, resting. Kvatch is far away, and I’m still human.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Skingrad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nothing interesting to report. I’m down in Skingrad by now. It’s beautiful, but it’s also a maze. I got so lost a guard had to show me back to the inn. How in the world am I supposed to find a hidden Emperor if I can’t even find my way around a city?</p><p>But, not today. I’m exhausted from erring around. I want a warm meal and a few glasses of wine and a good book, and to forget this adventure. The Empire can wait for one more day for its ruler.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Near Kvatch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Perhaps more than one more day.</p><p> </p><p>Now what is going on here? I <em>am</em> curious, and I <em>do</em> have an ongoing request to fetch a future Emperor, which has some importance.</p><p>I should take a look.</p><p> </p><p>– These are the classic last words before my journal falls into the mud, covered with blood splatters or perhaps singed at the edges, to be found later on by an adventurer, who brings it and my nice old-fashioned and only discreetly Daedric bracelet to my moderately grieving family.</p><p> </p><p>Speaking of that bracelet. I should use its help with my illusions. Because, if I approach, I should <em>perhaps</em> disguise myself as something slightly less easy-to-kill-looking. Like military. Or a mercenary. Or a frost atronach; that might be welcome amidst all the fire. Perhaps too welcome. Too much attention. Let’s spare the jokes for later Emperor-less times. Let’s go for mercenary.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapel of Akatosh, Kvatch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well.</p><p>Well, well.</p><p>How do we start?</p><p>Let’s start with the most relevant piece of information: There were Oblivion portals open. And not just any, but ones leading to the Deadlands, meaning Mehrunes Dagon has already sunk his claws into this situation and scratched a hole in it. (The Khajiit do equate him to a kitten, not without reason.)</p><p>I can just imagine Jauffre’s utter regret when he finds out this is happening and he allowed a Tharn to fetch his Emperor.</p><p>But I’m trying. I’m trying to fetch his Emperor.</p><p>So now that that’s out of the way, let’s go back to the beginning.</p><p> </p><p>I was warned of what was going on by several fleeing individuals and then the remainder of the army, camped downhill from the breach and visibly unsure how to proceed.</p><p>I was wearing a mercenary illusion, taller, broader, in functional armour – since I’m not good at feigning confidence, I have to let pure false physicality speak for me.</p><p>Regrettably, my appearance was seen as Divine-sent, and when I asked about ‘Brother Martin’, the soldiers said if I wanted to try, I would find him in the Chapel of Akatosh – alive or probably dead.</p><p>Since this did not bode well for the Empire, or Nirn altogether if the traditions can be believed, I went further uphill to have a look.</p><p>There it stood, right in front of the entrance to the Temple. I don’t know how it compares in size to the average Oblivion gate, having no experience in this sort of thing, but to me it looked massive. And it was glowing red as if on fire.</p><p>I could have walked around it and entered the Chapel, and naturally this should have been my priority, but the gate thought differently, or perhaps it was only I who thought differently. Whatever it was, the gate exuded an indescribable pull, an invitation framed in fire, and so I went. In retrospect, I really can’t say why. </p><p> </p><p>The sky!</p><p>Red lightning against a red starry sky, occasional blue smoke rising up in billowing clouds.</p><p>Streams of lava everywhere, with a few rocky paths, improbable plants that attack on sight or sting or drain on touch. (Yes, I touched. I wanted to take something home. Not the wisest idea, within a cornucopia of unwise ideas.)</p><p>I got hopelessly lost, found a fortress, walked in, as you do. Really, don’t ask me why I did <em>anything</em> in the past day or two. I couldn’t tell you.</p><p>Tormented prisoners in cages, bent iron cages like in story books. Bodies strung up with ropes, dangling over lava.</p><p>Charred remains of prisoners in iron cages – also strung up over lava.</p><p>Daedra. Daedra everywhere, attacking me.</p><p>My disguise either fooled absolutely nobody or it didn’t matter because they wanted to fight and that was that.</p><p>At first, surprised although I really should not have been, I threw a fireball to be funny. As if I was still in the arena, aiming to entertain. Didn’t do anything, of course. Conjured a dagger – that did do something. Conjured a frost atronach after all – poor idea. It drained me, and then I could watch my magicka investment melt into a puddle, evaporate with a hiss, and disappear back to its realm.</p><p>Still, I could hold my own a little bit. I suspect they sent the poor reserve to this area of the Deadlands, because that is most definitely what this is.</p><p>Hurt and drained and momentarily left alone, I found a fountain of fiery blood, and to add another foolhardy decision to the stack, I drank from it. It healed me. An interesting experience, I’ll say that much.</p><p>But I had to leave. This was very obviously too much for me. And what did I want there anyway?</p><p> </p><p>And so I crawled out of Oblivion like a whipped dog and found my way to the Chapel.</p><p>So much for heroism. So much for the mercenary illusion. But still I kept it on; I didn’t even have the presence of mind anymore to take it off.</p><p>And that’s where I met him. Luckily he hadn’t met an untimely end.</p><p>The Emperor. ‘Brother Martin’.</p><p> </p><p>A friendly man, handsome enough, with the beginnings of a priestly aura that would surely have come into bloom in his later years, was I not here to drag him away from that life path and onto the Ruby Throne.</p><p>I didn’t tell him yet. I didn’t know how to have that conversation at that moment, I just wanted food and recovery. But I told him Jauffre had sent me to fetch him, and it was very urgent.</p><p>And what did he reply? Not before the Oblivion gate is closed.</p><p>I said I was in there, that is not something you can simply close, and we needed to hurry to the Priory and I’d explain on the way.</p><p>I shouldn’t have said that. He acted impressed and a bit amused that I’d walked into an Oblivion gate just like that. He insisted. And asked me to try.</p><p>Me.</p><p>Why me, I asked.</p><p>And he said the most natural thing from his viewpoint: “You look like you can hold your own in a fight. We’re all priests. And you’ve already gone there. That takes courage.”</p><p>I could have ended it then, dropped the illusion. Shown what I really look like. I could have said “That was no courage”, detailed how I’d really entered that portal, and how it had gone. I could have said, truthfully, “I’m no more suited for this than you are.”</p><p>But I didn’t. Because the other truth is, now that I’ve had a moment of respite, I want to go back in. It isn’t leaving me alone.</p><p> </p><p>And so I’m resting, or trying to, on an uncomfortable bed roll spread out over cold stone floor, and of course I can’t sleep; I managed perhaps half an hour. It’s useless. This is worse than the Imperial City prison.</p><p>And I’m restless.</p><p>I think I’ll just get up and go. I’ll leave them a note so they know I didn’t just run away in the middle of the night. And if I don’t come back (<em>when</em> I don’t come back, rather), they’ll know why.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Between Kvatch and Skingrad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When I went back in, I got rid of my illusion. It’s like this in the Deadlands, nobody cares what you look like. The only thing that matters is your power. Your strength. Which I’ve got none of. But since these Daedra are spoiling for a fight with Nirn, and I’d be found out immediately anyway by virtue of being attacked by absolutely everyone and everything including the plants, the disguise is a pointless waste of magicka.</p><p>A relief, in a way.</p><p>In Oblivion I can be as I am. It’s only mortals that need to be fooled.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow I made it through.</p><p>This is as unspectacular a retelling as there is, but that is really what it was: Somehow.</p><p>I muddled through.</p><p>I conjured a longsword this time, one like Marcus “The Holy Slasher” from the Arena likes to wield. I figured if a man can be as attached to his blade as he is, and he’s still alive after years of arena fights, I wouldn’t go wrong with a Daedric imitation, even if it gets unsummoned frequently and always at just the wrong time.</p><p>That and a few more spells got me through, and a lot of hiding away behind rubble to regain my magical energy in between all that casting.</p><p>And prayer. There was that.</p><p>And through a miracle I can only attribute to Shezarr (and who else would bother to have an influence out here in the Deadlands, certainly not the Nine), I found a living prisoner who could help me. With his help I got a key, and with the key I got a so-called sigil stone, and once I took that into my unauthorised possession, I was expelled from the realm, and the massive portal outside the chapel was shut. Don’t ask me how or why.</p><p>Sadly there was nothing to be done for the prisoner. Being expelled like that was a blessing not only for sparing me the long arduous way out, but also for not having to look into his eyes as I had to leave with no way to help. He said there was nothing I could do and that I should move on, but following that was devastating, I won’t lie.</p><p> </p><p>As I stumbled out to the camp, the Imperial army greeted me with bafflement written all over their sooty faces, and asked me who I was.</p><p>Then I remembered I’d taken the illusion off. Who can keep track of these things when you’ve just shut down an Oblivion portal?</p><p>So with my last reserves of strength I put the illusion back on, and off again, and explained I’d deemed it necessary due to an urgent mission, and then forgotten.</p><p>Their captain said, “Well I’ve seen stranger things today,” and that ended the topic.</p><p> </p><p>Martin was luckily still alive. I had to do the Illusion on-and-off trick and the explanation once again. At least he looked impressed.</p><p> </p><p>Then the guard captain wanted me to help break the siege altogether and save the Count. Fine. As, for some reason, I’m now a proven warrior in these people’s eyes, I must have briefly believed in it myself and joined their effort. The siege is broken, but the Count was already dead. Another I couldn’t save, though in his luxurious chambers I didn’t feel nearly as sorry about him as I did about that prisoner in the Deadlands.</p><p> </p><p>Then I could finally take my Emperor and go. We hurried to get out of town, and now we’ve set up the most inept camp in the world just a bit outside of Kvatch in the woods. No more smoke, no more smell of burnt bodies, although that’ll stick in our hair and clothing for a while to come, I know. Washing can only do so much. A bit of arena experience, though fire and lava were not common weapons. But they happened. Something on this level, though, no; this is new. Nothing can prepare you for the Deadlands.</p><p> </p><p>I’m thinking of cutting it all off, the hair I mean. Luckily I don’t have to cut off the clothing from my body; I didn’t get that singed. Another of Shezarr’s miracles. Thank you. That would have been awful.</p><p> </p><p>Martin is already fast asleep. As usual, I can’t sleep.</p><p>Perhaps we can talk tomorrow. I’d been hoping for that for today, actually, but I suppose hiding in a Chapel is exhausting.</p><p>I know, I know that’s unfair. I’m just disproportionately insomniac.</p><p> </p><p>You know what, I hate this smell in my hair, it’s coming off. All of it. Perhaps I can conjure a blade fit for a shave. And there’s a trickle of water, and I can cast the light myself. Something to do at this damned hour in between days.</p><p> </p><p>There, done. A bit uneven, but a professional can fix that later. For now, I have one less hurdle for sleep.</p><p> </p><p>And here I am again, spat out into the world, where appearances matter and Emperors have to be delivered and the problems lie with succession rites.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing can prepare you for the Deadlands.</p><p>Nothing can prepare you for the allure and the terrible unmasked beauty of the Deadlands.</p><p>I want to do this again.</p>
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<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At last it was morning. Dawn is always a comfort.</p><p>And at last we talked. Over a cobbled-together breakfast that Brother Martin hunted and dissected. A useful skill, even though I’ve always detested hunting and stayed away.</p><p>I contributed fresh fire with a spell.</p><p>For a spoilt priest and a spoilt minor nobleman, we’re getting the hang of this wilderness thing. A little. But I’d really like an inn room soon anyway.</p><p> </p><p>First of all, he was surprised about my change in haircut. I explained the problem with the smell. And admitted to a certain erratic restlessness last night, I get those moments.</p><p>I offered to help him out with the same, but he declined. Perhaps for the better, for the coronation and all that pomp.</p><p>Then, since he was willing to listen, I talked about the Deadlands at length. I had to. All the thoughts and impressions had to go somewhere, and I thought perhaps a priest wasn’t the worst target.</p><p>He didn’t even judge. Expressed understanding even.</p><p>Unexpected.</p><p> </p><p>Then I finally had enough rest and clarity in my head to get to the real topic. And I decided I couldn’t just drop it on him in half a sentence. This was to change his life; he deserved better than that after listening to me for so long.</p><p>So I dragged it out somewhat, began with the story of the Imperial City prison and the Emperor’s death – made sure not to make that part too exciting because he’d soon find out that was his father. Tact, you know.</p><p>I mentioned the Emperor had given me the Amulet of Kings and told me to deliver it to Jauffre of the Weynon Priory, a Blades agent turned Talos monk, for a specific reason.</p><p>“And then Jauffre sent me to you. Now, imagine, an Empire without an Emperor, and the last thing he orders results in me having to fetch a certain someone out of his Akatosh Chapel. And to go through fire and lava for that because he just won’t leave otherwise. And I still do it because it’s that important.” I smiled. “What do you think might be the matter here?”</p><p>Watching the dawning realisation on his face was a treat, especially interrupted as it was by doubt and self-censorship of the realisation.</p><p>Watching him, I said at last, “Some things can’t be, can they? But they can. You’re the son. And now you’re going to be the Emperor. Congratulations. And please don’t hold anything against me that I’ve told you about Oblivion.”</p><p>He let out an incredulous laugh, and then took more time to process and ask questions. At last it sunk in. “And now we’re going to the Priory… Where they keep the Amulet of Kings…” He shook his head. “And all this time I had no idea.”</p><p> </p><p>After breakfast, I had a thought. Not a kind thought, but a thought. “You know, as much as the Blades interest me, and Jauffre was polite enough… He winced when he heard my family name. I didn’t like that. And I bet once he hears of this here, he’ll worry more. I’ve a mind to make him wait a bit, what do you think?”</p><p>Martin looked at me like he didn’t know what to make of me.</p><p>“Or are you too… priestly-dutiful for that?”</p><p>Something suspiciously looking like a smirk twitched on his lips before he suppressed it. He paused a while and at last sighed. “I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me.”</p><p>“Now I’m curious.”</p><p>“You’ve told me enough – and of course I won’t hold that against you. No, instead I will confide something in return. But after the most recent… revelation… I have to insist you keep it to yourself. Alright?”</p><p>Well, of course I had to hear this. “Alright.”</p><p>He sighed again, as if bracing himself. “I wasn’t always a priest of Akatosh.”</p><p>“I know. … I think.” But what did I <em>really</em> know? Did I really expect Jauffre to be truthful and complete in his account towards me?</p><p>“Before that, I followed someone else.”</p><p>“Something about the way you say that tells me it wasn’t the Nine. Not even Talos, was it?”</p><p>“No. You’re not alone in your fascination with Oblivion.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me…” I pointed to the charred ruins of Kvatch behind us.</p><p>“Oh no,” he said with a laugh, “that would be too much dramatic irony for one life story. No, not him.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Sanguine.”</p><p>I raised my eyebrows. “Interesting.” I tried to reconcile the image I had of him with the name he’d just dropped.</p><p>“That’s one word for it. It was a terrible aberration, and I’ll have to pay for it for the rest of my life.”</p><p>I nodded slowly. “How far in were you?”</p><p>“By the time I left? Not in the elite ranks, but not a novice either.”</p><p>The things you heard when people actually cared to talk. “Can I ask what that’s like?”</p><p>“Don’t,” he said with sudden harshness, then softened his tone. “If you feel the draw, too, and you consider it… Don’t. It’s a mistake, and it ruins lives. It would ruin yours. There’s no amount of emptiness that’s worse than what you’d do to yourself to fill it.”</p><p>I frowned, pausing too now. “That was uncomfortably on point.”</p><p>“I’ve been there.”</p><p>I nodded noncommittally, trying to process. Then I asked, “Not Sanguine or not any of them? I mean. The Deadlands are… beautiful, in a frightening way, but also repulsive to think of being trapped there.”</p><p>“You want to hear my honest thoughts?”</p><p>“I do,” I said.</p><p>He tore out a bit of grass and let it sail down through his fingers. “We’re all drawn to different aspects and different Princes. But from my perspective… Not Sanguine, above all. Any Daedric involvement is a mistake. But Sanguine’s path is poison. Don’t go to any of them, but if you have to, choose another. Any other.”</p><p>I nodded again, sincerely this time. “Thank you. I… I don’t even know what I’m doing or thinking here, this is nonsense I should get out of my head anyway. But just in case…. This specific piece of advice I’ll definitely take.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>And so we sat in the grass and watched the morning pass us by.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eventually my eyelids started getting heavy.</p><p>“Do you want to sleep?” Martin asked. “I’ll keep watch and clear out the camp. It’s the least I can do.”</p><p> “If you don’t mind,” I said, and I really didn’t want to hear that he minded, because fatigue hit me then, and I couldn’t wait to get to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Sometime in between, I woke up to the afternoon sun, which made me all the drowsier. But I remember muttering, “Once I’ve delivered you, I’ve got to figure out what to do with my life again. That’s difficult; I don’t like that.”</p><p>Martin turned to me and said, “Well, I don’t know if I should be handing out posts already, but I can tell you there’ll always be a place for my saviour and the saviour of Kvatch.”</p><p>“Isn’t that a bit much?”</p><p>“No, it’s not. But sleep some more; you’re slurring your speech. We have time.”</p><p>So I did.</p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. The Watchman’s Post, Skingrad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The good thing about the in-between situation we find ourselves in is that nobody knows Martin or his significance, and nobody cares about us now that we’re away from Kvatch. And so we can stay in inns. Additionally, with everyone now talking about the Oblivion gate and nothing else, one might think they wouldn’t even care if they <em>did</em> recognise the Emperor among them.</p><p> </p><p>I should add, for completeness’s sake, that while nobody remembers Martin with his priestly air, Martin remembers a lot of taverns, and the Watchman’s Post is one of them.</p><p>He put up a disclaimer at the beginning of the evening that he’ll never again take things too far, but also said we both needed something human after all that’s transpired and before he’ll get put into “the shackles of the crown”.</p><p>So we drank water (me, too, out of solidarity), and played cards for stakes I couldn’t actually afford. Neither should he have, as a priest, but as a former priest it’ll be fine, and soon he won’t have to worry about that. And the problem is, he can afford to play for any stakes he wants to because he keeps winning. It’s unreal. You’d think he still had Daedric favour.</p><p> </p><p>When the hour gets late, it doesn’t matter if drinks were involved or not, we start talking too much again, and so I told him more of my life story.</p><p>A bit later, he gave me the coin back that he’d won from me over the course of the evening. Insisted. Said, “I’ll be Emperor soon, and you’ve just lost your family and your footing. Keep it.”</p><p>I was embarrassed but accepted and thanked him. Said, “Perhaps you’re not a bad choice as Emperor.”</p><p>“Oh I’d be a very bad choice,” he said, “if it was a choice. But it’s not, and so the Empire will have to contend with me.”</p><p>“Till it’s time… can you teach me how to play like that?”</p><p>So he’s started to teach me.</p><p> </p><p>Now he’s in his bunk sleeping, and I’m still awake writing, as always. Reasonable sleep is not in it for me. Perhaps it never will be.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Lake Rumare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>We were walking along Lake Rumare’s shore in the early morning sun when we briefly considered renting a pair of horses for the travel.</p><p>“I don’t have that kind of coin,” I said. “Do you?”</p><p>“I have some… But I’ve been meaning to ask. This is all you have? Didn’t they pay you after the siege?”</p><p>“No. Were they supposed to?”</p><p>Martin frowned. “Of course they were. Didn’t you even ask?”</p><p>“It was a favour. The city was under siege, and there was an Oblivion portal.”</p><p>“And now you don’t even have enough to afford a horse?” He cracked a smile. “Nobles. You don’t even know how to ask for money, do you? It’s just supposed to be there.”</p><p>“In the arena they paid us without us having to say anything… Wait a moment. Is the Emperor making fun of me for being nobility?”</p><p>He laughed. “You’re right, you’re right.”</p><p>I paused. “I do hate asking for money. I’ve had to before; believe it or not, I mostly worked for my living before they threw me into prison, too. But I prefer working with people who just know when to pay and how much.”</p><p>His remarkably blue eyes flashed with humour. “Am I going to turn out like you in a while?”</p><p>“I don’t know, Brother Martin. Are you?”</p><p>He shook his head laughing. “I should keep you around as a reminder.”</p><p>“Is that the new post you’re offering? I could do that.”</p><p>“Let’s not rent horses. I have the coin, but I’d like to walk. Maximise my last days in freedom.”</p><p>I nodded. “I concur. Say, last days in freedom. You’re right. Is there anything you’d like to do? Something you won’t get to after this, or not easily?”</p><p>He tilted his head back and squinted against the sun. “That is a good question… Don’t tempt me into getting irresponsible now.”</p><p>“I’d never,” I said in as grave a voice as I could muster. “Wouldn’t even think of trying.”</p><p>“Really? Cause it sounds to me as if you’re thinking of trying.”</p><p>I laughed. “Something only semi-irresponsible then?”</p><p>His eyes wandered over the lake. “You know, as a boy I used to enjoy fishing. I haven’t gotten to do that in a long time. Rent a hut, stay there for a few days, just fish and drink ale. And talk, if that’s not too boring for you and you’d stay around.”</p><p>“I’ve never fished. If you can tolerate that… Ale is alright?”</p><p>“If it’s with fishing, yes. You need rules for that sort of thing. It helps.”</p><p>I nodded. “You know, I haven’t been out in nature as much in most of my life as I have in the last few days with you.”</p><p>“A fisherman’s hut isn’t ‘nature’. We’d have some basic…”</p><p>“It’s nature,” I said and smiled. “I’ll gladly come along. And learn to fish. Or look away, we’ll see what I can stomach. But talk I can. And drink ale, too.”</p><p>“Then we have a plan. Poor Jauffre. Revenge enough?”</p><p>“Yes, I’ll be satisfied with that. Especially if you tell him the delay is due to us going fishing. And I get to see.”</p><p>He laughed. “He’s right to be wary. You’re dangerous and malicious.”</p><p>“Only because he started. You need rules for that sort of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>And so we’re in a rickety hut by Lake Rumare, fishing. I can fight in the arena and cause all that bloodshed, but I still look away when he kills a caught fish. But I’m learning to control the fire just so to grill them to perfection. The ale is plenty, and so is the talk and the talking entirely too much. I’m not sure I want this time to end.</p><p> </p>
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